


Wildcard

by JazzRaft



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:24:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9493388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/pseuds/JazzRaft
Summary: The wild card didn’t play by the rules, and Ravus had been playing the game as a face card for too long.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stephicness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephicness/gifts).



> Originally posted on [tumblr](http://jazzraft.tumblr.com/post/155869064142/pair-and-prompt-ravus-and-prompto-with-push) for the "Push" prompt in [this post.](http://jazzraft.tumblr.com/post/155862556736/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-prompt)

He had misjudged Prompto. Of the four, Ravus had assumed too quickly that the gunman would be the least of his concerns. Inexperienced and undisciplined by comparison to his peers, the wiry blond would be the simplest to incapacitate. One or two troopers in the first minute of battle would be the end of that minor nuisance, allowing Ravus to concentrate his efforts on isolating the more dangerous compatriots to the prince and finally capturing the chancellor’s prize.

After the second failure, Aranea laughed at him and said, “Ya’know what they say about assuming, right?”

Ingratiating though her sarcasm was, she had a point… Although the only ass being made out of this situation was himself. Prompto was reckless and wild, characteristics Ravus had wrongly deduced as detriments to his combat capabilities when, in fact, they were what made him so formidable.

“Everyone forgets about the wild card,” Aranea said, holding up the printed piece of cardboard that won her their game of cards. “Most people think it’s too tricky to rely on. Laugh it off when it doesn’t win you a game, but get told it’s practically cheating when it does. It doesn’t play by the rules and that can make it invaluable if enough faith is put behind it.”

Informative in the strangest of ways, the commodore. When Ravus reviewed the battle footage from his airship recording and paid special attention to Prompto within the fray, he could see exactly what Aranea meant. There was no calculation behind the boy’s attacks. For someone who specialized in long-range combat, he spent just as much time in close quarters as he did picking off troopers from a distance. There was no pattern to his tactics. It didn’t fit any of the paradigms that Ravus regularly simulated in his head. To quote some of Aranea’s vernacular, he was, quite simply, “winging it.”

…How the hell was he supposed to deal with _that_?

Poorly, ended up being the answer. After each encounter with Noctis and his infuriating little shot of sunshine, Ravus grew more and more frustrated. He ordered a laughably large retinue of troopers to try overwhelming the kid, only to have them all sprayed into the sky like Magitek fireworks from one of his ridiculous machineries. Ravus ordered the massive techs to empty their missile reserves at him, only to squint through the smoke and catch Prompto rolling from cover to cover like a yellow-headed yo-yo. Ravus marched through the cacophony of combat and even fought Prompto _himself_ and somehow even _that_ wasn’t enough.

After one incident in particular, Ravus’s innermost spite was taunted to the surface and finally inspired him into insufferable action.

He brought his sword down hard, hell-bent on halving the nitwit in two, but Prompto rolled clear of the blade faster than Ravus could spit in his direction. The High Commander jerked his sword from the asphalt and whipped around, glaring after the blond as he fled across the battlefield to regroup with his friends. As he did, Prompto turned around, laughed, and threw him _a kiss_. “Nice try!” he sang and disappeared into the swarming sea of metal bodies and royal arms.

It was all Ravus could do not to turn his head skywards and just _scream_. How _dare_ he _mock him?_ How _dare_ he throw kisses instead of punches and insult Ravus in such a juvenile manner! He would kill him, he would _butcher_ him: chop him up into tiny square pieces for Scientia to cook up in a campfire stew. He would _destroy_ him for his insolence, absolutely _obliterate_ him… but, Gods be damned, _how_? He kept slipping through Ravus’s fingers, squirming through all the holes in his best-laid plans, and he _knew_ it, that smug son of a bitch _knew_ he had the commander on his last nerve. There was such a wicked delight in those eyes, such a practiced sting to that kissing gesture that Ravus just wanted to…

“Throw it back at him.”

Aranea said it so casually, like it was such an obvious solution. The figures Ravus had been calculating in his brain while he ranted at her were no longer computing, stalled on this foreign variable she’d so nonchalantly thrown into the equation.

“You’re over-thinking things again,” she said, stretching back into her seat like a lounging feline. “The best solution is usually the simplest.”

Ravus stared at the cards on the table – that was six losses on his part now – and narrowed his gaze at the laughing jester in Aranea’s hand that had awarded her yet another victory. The wild card didn’t play by the rules, and Ravus had been playing the game as a face card for too long. With this revelation in mind, Ravus approached the next fight with a singular purpose.

The Magitek troopers rained down from the airship ahead of him. While they intercepted the Lucians, Ravus pin-pointed the gunner, following his erratic movements. Ravus waited until there was a substantial wall of troopers dividing him from the rest of the group, and then descended from the airship himself. Prompto spun around, expecting another Magitek trooper had landed behind him by the metallic clang the Commander’s arm made from the impact. Upon recognizing Ravus, Prompto’s expression changed from one of grim determination to one of mischievous intent. Ravus glared at him and drew his sword.

“Alright, challenge accepted,” Prompto said in response, gun at the ready.

Ravus stepped left and Prompto stepped right. Ravus moved forward and Prompto moved back. Ravus tried not to smirk. For all his bravado, the boy still knew better than to over-estimate his own abilities against the High Commander of the Niflheim army. Ravus slid his blade through the air in a lazy arc, pleased when Prompto skipped back to avoid it. He returned the strike with a few warning shots, ones that Ravus easily deflected with his Magitek arm. They traded feints like that for a while, Prompto always doing the reverse of Ravus and always oblivious to the ever-growing distance being made between him and the rest of the fight.

Ravus thought he heard the faint call of the prince, searching for his friend in the chaos. The cry didn’t seem to reach Prompto though. His cocky grin had slowly devolved back into a determined line the longer he traded blows with Ravus to no avail. With the clamor of the battle far-off and the wall of the abandoned farmhouse now looming, Ravus finally changed tactics. He dodged one of Prompto’s return shots and spun a hard kick into his mid-section. The gunman was caught off guard by the sudden blow, stumbling back against the old wood wall with a gush of breath. Ravus surged forward, slamming his gauntlet against the wall beside Prompto’s head.

Prompto’s eyes flew open in a cold panic, all of the childish goading drained from his eyes. Before he could regain control over his fear and realize he still had a gun free to defend himself with, Ravus took a fistful of his shirt into his Magitek fist, and yanked his face forward. The kiss crashed into the bewildered blond like a stone thrown into a window. He made a distressed noise against Ravus’s mouth, face hot and gangly limbs flailing. Muffled protests sent shockwaves through Ravus’s lips and he relished the vibrations. Vengeance tasted _delicious_ – like ramen and fried rice, not one of his favorites, but he could make an exception. Served like this – wide-eyed, flushed, and quivering beneath him – it tasted more like a delicacy than cheap take-out.

Ravus put an abrupt end to the sampling, roughly shoving Prompto back against the wall. He blinked rapidly, mouth gaping like a dead fish and cheeks red with unshed blood. Finally, after months of humiliating failures at the hands of this fool, Ravus had turned the tables. He grinned, wholly satisfied by the flustered state he had left Prompto in.

“Don’t be so hasty to throw out what you’re not prepared to get back,” he said.

Prompto stared at him, comprehension completely lost to him. Ravus pivoted on his heel and marched back to the battle, grinning like a daemon as he beset upon Noctis and the others. Even with his personal victory over Prompto, Ravus was not successful in capturing the prince that time. Nevertheless, he returned to base feeling awfully proud of himself.

“Upped the ante?” Aranea asked, just on her way out as he was coming in.

“His turn to raise the stakes.”


End file.
